


Sports Metaphors For Beginners

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start) [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Together, Fluff and Smut, Ghost Hunters, M/M, Podfic Available, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: In which Ryan strikes out on his tenth attempt to prove that ghosts are real (but knocks it out of the park with Shane).





	Sports Metaphors For Beginners

**Author's Note:**

> this took way too goddamn long to write. anyways, welcome back! this could technically be read as a standalone but will probably make more sense as part of the series! 
> 
> Zack, TJ, Jen and Brent are all mentioned, but this one is basically all about the boys.

Ryan isn’t sure who he heard the story from first.

It’s all too possible that it first came from TJ, or maybe it was Zack; while he’s only been hanging out with them for a few months, since TJ met him at work and discovered that they all went to school together, that’s been long enough for Ryan to learn that the assortment of miscellaneous knowledge Zack contains in his head, right next to his encyclopedia of sports trivia, is wide and varied, and they’ve definitely talked about ghosts before, so there is a distinct possibility that it was actually him who first made Ryan aware of the story, even though he doesn’t have a distinct memory of that conversation having occurred. It’s also possible that maybe he just overheard the story at a party.

At the end of the day, where he heard the story from, how it got into his brain, isn’t exactly important. What’s important are the supposed _facts_. What’s important is that, apparently, back in the fifties, there were medical experiments conducted in the basement of the main life sciences building on campus. Some of the test subjects of those experiments supposedly died, and their angry spirits continue to haunt the now closed-off section of the basement. 

Ryan had tried doing some research of his own to verify the story, to establish that there was at least a grain of truth in it, but he’d come up fairly empty, aside from anonymous posts on message boards. All told, the whole thing is a bit tenuous, and normally, he wouldn’t even bother to pursue it further, but it isn’t as if he’ll have to go out of his way to explore this place; he’s on campus at least four days a week, five if he decides to go there on Tuesday and hit up the gym or study while he waits for Shane to finish class. It’s worth checking out, if only because of the lack of effort he needs to put into it.

But he sure as fuck isn’t venturing into the place alone.

He brings it up to Shane in mid-November, while they’re watching a movie in Shane’s bedroom one night. It’s supposed to be a brief study break; their textbooks and laptops are stacked on the floor beside the bed, ready to be opened up again, but their break has already lasted for two hours and, frankly, at this point, Ryan’s not exactly that eager to get back to schoolwork. Going back to schoolwork would mean that he’d have to move away from Shane’s side, would mean that he could no longer have Shane’s long arm wrapped around his shoulders, and that frankly doesn’t sound like an enjoyable way to end the night.

So instead, when the movie starts to wind down, he clears his throat and asks, “You ever heard anything about the life sciences building?”

“You mean the human experiments?” Ryan glances up at him in surprise, and Shane shrugs. “I think everyone’s heard about those. Total bullshit though. Pretty sure they just closed the floor because of asbestos or mold. Something like that.”

“What if it _isn’t_ bullshit though?” Ryan responds. “Not all of it, at least. The CIA did plenty of medical experiments-”

“I don’t know if I’d call dosing people with LSD medical experiments,” Shane interrupts, and Ryan is willing to admit that he has a fair point. “And we have actual evidence of that. If the _CIA_ couldn't manage to keep their covert operations under wraps, how could a mid-sized college do it for sixty years?”

“Maybe they worked _with_ the CIA. Two heads are better than one.” Now that’s _definitely_ bullshit, but Ryan says it mostly to see how Shane will react, and he grins when Shane groans and dramatically claps one hand to his own face.

“You’ve gone too far down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole. I can’t save you now. Nice knowing you.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ryan wheezes, sitting up on his knees and twisting around to face Shane. “Seriously though. I think we should check it out. If anything was going to create ghosts-”

“I fucking _knew_ this was about ghosts!”

“-Then it would be dying at the hands of a brutal medical experiment in some creepy fucking basement,” Ryan continues, ignoring Shane’s gleeful interruption. “You have to admit, I have a point.”

“I don’t have to, actually, and I’m not going to, because ghosts are bullshit,” Shane retorts, wrapping his hands around Ryan’s waist and tugging him closer. “But you’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“I’m not,” Ryan confirms, letting Shane pull him up into his lap. Once his knees are settled on either side of Shane’s hips, he continues, “You _did_ say that you didn’t trust anyone else to make sure that I don’t kill myself in some dark basement. And this is _definitely_ going to be a dark basement.”

“Damn it,” Shane mutters, pushing Ryan’s shirt up and slipping his hands underneath. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Can’t take it back now,” Ryan answers with a nod, sucking in a breath when Shane’s thumbs drag over his hipbones. “I’m just not sure how we’re going to get into the place.” He’s fairly certain that they won’t be able to just waltz into the basement; the college’s security isn’t _quite_ that lax. There’s probably a janitor somewhere on staff that might be willing to look the other way for a little bit, so long as there’s cash or booze involved, or maybe there’s a grad student who has access. It’s just a matter of putting out his feelers and seeing if he can find someone.

“I might have a way,” Shane says, fingers now flitting along the waistband of Ryan’s jeans. “I know a guy.”

“You _know_ a guy?” Ryan laughs unsteadily, dropping his hands to Shane’s shoulders. “What are you, a spy?”

“If I am, you’ll never know,” Shane replies, which is absurd, because Ryan is pretty sure Shane would make about the worst spy in the world for at least a dozen different reasons. “Let me ask him. Might manage to save you some money.”

“That’s the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever done for me.” Shane rolls his eyes and pops the button of Ryan’s jeans free.

“Whatever. C’mere.”

Ryan’s definitely not going to turn down a request like that so, putting thoughts of medical experiments and ghosts and creepy haunted basements out of his head for the time being, he leans forward and kisses Shane, just in time to muffle his groan when Shane slides his hand into Ryan’s boxers.

Their study break ends up lasting for the rest of the night.

&.

Two days later, they meet up at the library to get some actual studying done. Ryan arrives first and waits beside the front entrance. When Shane strolls up five minutes later, he immediately reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, innocuous looking gold key.

“Brent says that he needs it back by Monday,” Shane says by way of greeting, pressing the key into Ryan’s palm. “So don’t lose it, or he’ll get fired.”

Ryan, admittedly, is a little dumbstruck, but primarily, he’s just plain _impressed._

“You really _do_ know a guy,” he remarks, giving the key a quick glance over before he stashes it deep in his pocket.

“You thought I was lying?” Shane gasps, taking Ryan’s hand as they walk toward the library’s entrance. “Ryan, I’m truly hurt by your lack of faith in me.”

“I have faith in you,” Ryan argues. “Just only when it comes to certain things.” 

Most of which aren’t appropriate for discussing between the library’s walls.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Not doing anything to fix my pain, buddy.”

“I can fix it later, if you wanna come back to my place when we’re done here.” 

The comment definitely catches Shane off guard, judging by the way he suddenly coughs and ducks his head to push his clear framed glasses further up his nose. Ryan just grins up at him and squeezes his hand tightly before he has to let go so they can go through the turnstiles. 

This time, they do manage to get some studying done, although every so often, when Ryan shifts, the key digs into his thigh, and his thoughts momentarily turn towards planning out their latest ghost hunting expedition. All the other ones they’ve gone on have been interesting experiences, to say the least, and he’s fairly certain that he’s lost a few years off his life simply from jumping at shifting shadows and strange sounds, but he’s yet to find anything definitive, anything to serve as irrefutable proof that the supernatural exists.

Maybe the tenth time will be the charm.

&.

They decide to go on Friday, after they’re both done with their respective classes. It’s Shane’s idea, and Ryan is more than happy to go along with it; while there’s likely to be fewer students around on the weekend, the ones that _are_ there are more likely to get scrutinized, and Ryan would rather not get caught sneaking around in the basement.

It’s probably not enough to get him expelled, but still, he doesn’t want to find out for certain.

While they both finish up their classes just before seven, they’re in different buildings at complete opposite ends of the campus, so they meet up in the lobby of the life sciences building. When Ryan arrives there, the place is still packed with a steady stream of students heading out for the night, but Shane is easy enough to spot, head and shoulders above most of the crowd, casually leaning back against someone’s locker and texting with one hand. Ryan weaves his way through the crowd, the straps of his backpack digging deep into his shoulders; not only is he laden down with his textbooks and laptop, as per usual, but he also has two flashlights, a handful of spare batteries, and his video camera tucked inside. 

Next time, he’s going to make Shane carry everything.

In order to actually get to the older part of the basement, not the newer part that’s outfitted with state of the art laboratories and decked-out classrooms, they have to go through a veritable maze of hallways that lead deep into the sprawling building. Eventually, one of the hallways terminates in a stairwell, and they head down three levels, each one grimier and darker than the last. By the time they reach the final landing, Ryan’s stomach is starting to churn with anxiety.

There are two lights inset into the ceiling at the bottom of the stairwell, but they’re dim and flickering intermittently, like they might just give up and sputter out at any moment. The floor is dirty enough that when Ryan steps forward, he leaves visible footprints behind on the concrete. Interestingly, and disgustingly, in one corner, there’s something that looks suspiciously like a used condom resting on the floor, alongside some other trash.

“Well, that’s fucking gross,” Ryan comments, fishing the key that Shane procured for them out of his pocket. There’s only one possible place that it could go, and that’s in the door set into the wall facing the stairs. It’s just as dirty and grimy as the rest of the area, and there’s a metal sign bolted to it that reads _Off Limits_ in large white lettering.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I have some of those in my bag, if you’re interested,” Shane says, nodding his chin towards the condom and wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting,” Ryan mutters, trying to keep his hands steady as he feeds the key into the lock. Aside from the scratch of the key against the metal and their voices, the place is as quiet as a tomb. 

“Oh, baby, tell me more. You know that really gets me going,” Shane says, grinning from ear to ear as he leans down to kiss Ryan’s cheek. “Don’t worry. _I’m_ not interested. Pretty sure I couldn’t hold you up for that long.”

Ryan is fairly certain that it shouldn’t be possible for his face to grow as warm as it does, seeing as how they’re in a filthy basement that is quite possibly inhabited by some very angry ghosts, but still, the mere concept of Shane fucking him at _all_ , regardless of the circumstances under which it actually happens, never fails to make his face flush.

(Given his reaction from just thinking about it, there’s a sixty percent chance that he might just spontaneously combust the first time they actually _do_ sleep together.)

The lock is a bit stiff from disuse, but after some careful wriggling, it clicks open, and Ryan slowly pushes the door open on screeching hinges. Awaiting them on the other side is nothing less than absolute blackness, and while Ryan does find a light switch just inside the door frame (after a few horrible moments of sliding his hand along the wall and expecting at any moment to feel _something_ touch him), flicking it does absolutely nothing.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shivering slightly. The hallway is cold enough to make the hair on his arms stand up. He reaches for the straps of his backpack so that he can swing it off, but before he can do so, Shane stops him with a hand on his shoulder and uses his other hand to draw the zipper open and dig out the flashlights and the video camera.

“What?” Shane said, flicking his flashlight on. “It’s just a hallway.”

Ryan’s pretty sure that, even though hallway is technically the most accurate descriptor, it just isn’t a strong enough word to describe the sheer malevolence the place seems to emanate. Hellhole is more fitting.

He turns his own flashlight on and pans the beam around the darkness before him. The floor is covered in old, colorless linoleum that’s peeling up to reveal the concrete underneath. A number of the ceiling tiles are bulging out in the middle or have fallen down completely and splintered apart on the floor, leaving behind gaping holes like missing teeth. Towards the end of the hallway, where it intersects with another to form a T, there’s an old wheelchair parked against the wall, the spokes covered with rust and the leather armrests and seat rotting and riddled with holes. A number of ajar doors lead off the hallway. Somehow, the darkness awaiting in those rooms seems even blacker than that which had greeted Ryan when he opened the door, seems more ominous, like it could easily swallow him whole. Cold fear starts creeping up his spine and instantly erases the last remnants of his flush.

“This place is just full of negative energy,” he says, forcing himself to step over the threshold. Turning on the video camera, he points the beam of his flashlight towards the nearest door. “Do you seriously not feel it?”

“Don’t feel anything but cold,” Shane answers over the obnoxiously loud crinkle of plastic, and Ryan spins back around just in time to see Shane bite into a chocolate bar. When Ryan just stares at him, Shane shrugs and takes another bite. “What? Man’s gotta eat.”

“You are the fucking worst,” Ryan mutters but, unable to help himself, he quickly presses his mouth to Shane’s cheek before he turns back to the hallway and takes a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to quell the knot of anxiety in his stomach. 

“Here goes nothing,” he says and, before he can lose his nerve, he strides into the nearest dark room.

Time to catch some ghosts.

&.

The problem is that, even though they spend over two hours exploring every nook and cranny of the place, there are no ghosts to be found.

Sure, Ryan’s first impression turns out to be completely accurate; ghosts or not, the place is certifiably fucking creepy. In addition to the wheelchair, there’s an absurd amount of abandoned medical equipment lying around the rooms, including a fucking skeleton model that had nearly given him a heart attack when it suddenly loomed up out of the darkness. Every area that they enter seems colder than the last and, once or twice, the hair on the back of his neck sticks up like he’s being watched, but there’s nothing that screams the presence of spirits. There’s always the possibility that he caught something on his camera, something he missed while he was pointing his flashlight around and trying not to trip over detritus or loose floor tiles, but that’s a slim possibility.

Overall, while he won’t know for sure until he reviews all the footage, it’s looking like his tenth attempt to prove that ghosts exist is going to be just as much of a strikeout as the nine attempts that preceded it.

By the time they lock the basement back up and trace their steps back through the building’s convoluted structure of corridors and hallways, it’s nine thirty. The air has cooled considerably, and Ryan zips his jacket up to the base of his neck while they walk back across campus in the general direction of their respective apartments, fingers linked together. 

Normally, Ryan would spend most of their walk analyzing everything that they saw or heard over the last few hours, would try to convince Shane that they witnessed _something_ supernatural, but frankly, he’s not convinced himself, and he’s tired. It’s been a long, trying week on the academic front, even if his personal life is going fucking fantastic; even though it feels like they just put midterms behind them, the threat of finals is already looming on the horizon, and his brain just isn’t in the right mindset for conducting a detailed analysis. That can wait until tomorrow, once he’s actually gotten some sleep and can spend some time combing through the footage they captured.

For now, he’s just happy to hold Shane’s hand. 

They’re nearing the edge of campus when Ryan realizes that they haven’t talked about what their next move is going to be, if they’re going to split up and go their separate ways, or if they’re spending the night with each other. He’s pretty sure that TJ won’t care if he brings Shane home with him (that is, if TJ is home at all; Friday night usually means that he crashes at Zack’s place).

However, before he can bring it up, Shane speaks first.

“So Jen’s staying at Kristin’s tonight.”

Ryan’s stomach swoops for a reason entirely unrelated to anxiety, and he stops walking and glances up at Shane’s face. The nearest light is a few yards away, but there’s still enough illumination for him to see that Shane is blushing ever so slightly, although Ryan is fairly sure that, if he asked, Shane would never admit to it.

“Why, Mr. Madej,” he says with a grin, turning to face Shane head-on, “are you asking me to come home with you? You do realize I have my reputation to consider.”

“Are you insinuating that _I_ would damage your reputation?” Shane scoffs, clutching at his heart with his free hand and taking a step backwards. “How dare you. I’m a reputable gentleman.”

“How dare _you_ , you scoundrel,” Ryan rebuts through a laugh, tugging Shane back towards him. “If I _was_ to decide to forsake my oh-so-important reputation and go home with you, what would I get out of it? It’s gotta be something good.”

For a few moments, Shane doesn’t speak. He glances up at the sky and hems and haws, taps his chin with his index finger, looks so ridiculous that Ryan can’t help but wheeze. Eventually, however, the absurd look on his face melts away in favor of something that’s completely and utterly serious. He wriggles his fingers free of Ryan’s grasp and brings his hands up to cradle Ryan’s face, and Ryan inhales sharply as Shane’s thumbs brush along the curves of his cheekbones.

“Is ‘whatever you want’ an enticing enough answer?” he asks. “Worth forsaking your reputation for?” There’s a cobweb tangled in his hair, and Ryan reaches up and brushes it away before he drags his fingers down Shane’s arm to curl around his wrist. 

“Whatever I want?” he asks, eyes dropping to Shane’s mouth. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods. One of his thumbs slides down Ryan’s cheek and absently nudges at his bottom lip. “Within reason, obviously. You’re not allowed to kill me.”

“You know, we never _did_ talk about why you’re so convinced I want to kill you at all,” Ryan responds before he takes a deep breath. He knows exactly what he wants to say, has wanted to say it for a while now, but the prospect of actually spitting the words out is almost as terrifying as walking into a paranormal hotbed.

Then again, he’s done that ten times now, and he’s always managed to make it out alive. If he can do that without getting killed, saying a few words should be a cakewalk.

So, he leans in closer, until their noses are bumping together, and murmurs, “What if I wanted you to fuck me? Is that within reason?”

Shane’s eyes go wide and he sighs out a deep breath as the corners of his mouth tick up into a nervous smile. For a moment, Ryan expects him to make some kind of crack about reputation, about what the neighbors might think, but when he speaks, he’s totally serious.

“Definitely. Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” Ryan watches Shane’s throat bob once before Shane closes the small space between them and kisses him. Shane’s hands slide down over his jaw to mold to the sides of his neck, and when his thumb skates over Ryan’s pulse, Ryan buries a content sigh into Shane’s mouth. He’s not exactly sure how he managed to score such an amazing boyfriend, one who thinks ghosts are stupid but still comes tromping through abandoned warehouses and condemned buildings with him, one who just _fits_ with him, who gets along perfectly with his roommate and his friends.

He’s not sure how he got so lucky, but he’s eternally grateful for it.

Eventually, Shane backs away, but only after he presses one last lingering kiss to the corner of Ryan’s mouth. Slowly, his eyes flick open and, he looks so effortlessly gorgeous that, not for the first time, Ryan wishes that he had a photographic memory so that he could forever preserve the sight in his mind.

“Let’s go home,” Shane says quietly like it’s a secret just for the two of them and, for a few moments, Ryan’s mind wanders in the direction of what it would feel like to hear that every day, what it would feel like if they had an _actual_ home together, a place that was entirely theirs, even if it was just a tiny one bedroom apartment. It’s too soon to think about it with any real seriousness, but he can’t deny that it’s something to consider for the future.

“Lead the way, big guy,” he says. When Shane slides his hands away from the sides of Ryan’s neck, Ryan automatically takes one and squeezes it tightly as they start walking again. Once they reach the edge of campus, they turn down the street that leads in the direction of Shane’s apartment, and Ryan’s stomach starts to flutter with anticipation. 

It takes fifteen minutes of walking down dim, quiet streets to reach Shane’s place, during which they talk about nothing of any real importance. They don’t discuss their ghost hunting expedition; mainly, it’s just school, what projects they need to work on over the weekend, what movies are coming out that look good. All of Ryan’s words feel like they come out too fast, no matter how hard he tries to regulate them but, at the very least, it seems like Shane is in the same boat as him. He laughs even more than usual, but it all sounds just a little off, and when they do finally make it to his building, it takes him a suspiciously long time to feed his key into the front door.

The elevator seems to take forever to come and even longer to actually make the climb to the fifth floor. Once the doors slide open with a thud, Shane takes the lead, his damnably long legs moving so fast that Ryan has to jog after him just to feel like he’s not going to be yanked right off his feet. Shane’s apartment is at the very end of the hall and, thankfully, he unlocks his door a lot quicker than he had the door to the actual building.

The entryway and the living room beyond are dark. Ryan toes out of his shoes while Shane locks the door again, the click of which seems absurdly loud in the enclosed space. He carefully slides his backpack off and sets it off to the side, out of the way, just in case Jen changes her mind and decides to come back, and turns back around just in time for Shane to finish hanging his jacket up in the closet. It’s not a large hallway, and they’re only a foot apart at most, but for a few moments, neither of them move. They stay there, motionless, simply looking at each other, and the weight of Shane’s gaze as it sweeps over him makes warm heat leech into Ryan’s face, sink down into his chest.

They both move at the same time.

Ryan steps forward just as Shane reaches out, grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him in, and they end up crashing together hard enough for Shane to stumble backwards into the door. Ryan’s face ends up pressed against Shane’s chest, and he wheezes even as he cranes up so that he can get his mouth on Shane’s neck.

“We fucking suck at this,” he mutters, pressing a hard kiss to the hollow at the base of Shane’s throat.

“Practice makes perfect,” Shane remarks, long fingers brushing through Ryan’s hair. When Ryan moves to one side and scrapes his teeth against the end of Shane’s clavicle, where it’s jutting out from the open collar of his shirt, he groans quietly, and there’s a thud as he drops his head back against the door.

“Guess we’ll just have to practice a _lot_ ,” Ryan murmurs, sliding his hands under Shane’s shirt. The hand smoothing through Ryan’s hair tightens on the back of his head while the other grabs the zipper of his jacket and yanks it down to the bottom. Ryan shrugs out of it, only letting go of Shane when he absolutely has to, and flicks it off to the side, where it floats down to land on top of his backpack. When he turns back, before he can get his mouth back on Shane’s neck, Shane leans down and kisses him hard enough for Ryan to have to take a step backwards. Ryan tilts his head so that their mouths slot together perfectly and, while Shane’s tongue drags along his bottom lip, he tries to divide his attention between kissing back and unbuttoning Shane’s shirt.

He’s only partially successful; when he pulls away to breathe, there’s still three buttons hanging in there. As he reaches for them to finish the job, Shane gently grabs his hand and brings it to his mouth.

“Bedroom?” he asks, pressing his lips to each of Ryan’s knuckles in turn. For a moment, it’s all Ryan can do to just watch him do it, to just savor the feeling.

He’s just so _lucky._

“Probably a good idea,” he eventually manages to say, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Before we break something.” 

Thankfully, they don’t have to go far at all; Shane’s bedroom is just off the living room. They manage to wait until the door is closed behind them before they start kissing again. It’s messier than before, rougher, and when Shane’s teeth momentarily catch on his bottom lip while he’s finally finishing off Shane’s shirt, Ryan’s fingers twitch hard enough for him to tear off a button.

“I’ll fix that later,” he says, dropping the button to the floor and shoving Shane’s shirt down his absurdly long arms.

“You know how to sew?” Shane asks with a laugh, reaching for the hem of Ryan’s shirt as soon as his own is on the floor.

“I’ll learn,” Ryan answers, the words muffled as he helps Shane tug his shirt over his head in a clash of hands and fingers. 

They fall to the bed in another clash of limbs, legs tangled together, hands impatiently tugging at remaining clothes, laughing all the while. The curtains are open, and there’s enough glow from the streetlights outside for Ryan to make out Shane’s face, which means that, once they’ve managed to situate themselves comfortably, he can see the way Shane’s mouth drops open when Ryan drops his hand to palm at Shane through his jeans.

“Fuck, Ry,” he breathes out unsteadily, and it’s possibly the most beautiful thing Ryan has ever heard. “You’re still sure?”

“Yeah,” Ryan nods, splaying his legs apart further so that he can bracket Shane’s hips with his knees. “I am. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Yeah,” Shane laughs shakily, leaning down and pressing his face into the junction where Ryan’s throat meets his shoulder. “You have no idea.”

Ryan’s fairly certain that he does, actually, have at least _some_ idea, but now is not the time to be debating that, so instead, he starts working on getting Shane’s pants off. It’s a process that takes way longer than it should, primarily because he keeps losing himself to the feeling of Shane biting at his jaw and sucking bruises into the thin skin over his pulse. Eventually, he does manage to succeed in doing all that he can, and he pushes at Shane’s jeans until Shane helps him out by rolling off Ryan, onto his back, and shoving both them and his boxers off, kicking them over the edge of the bed, where they disappear into darkness. Ryan reaches for his own button, but before he can do more than pop it free, Shane takes his hands and moves them to the mattress, presses them there gently.

“I’ve got this,” he says quietly, rolling back on top of Ryan. “Is that alright?” As he lowers himself down and starts kissing the line of Ryan’s collarbone, his dick brushes against Ryan’s thigh, and Ryan reaches up and draws one of his fingers up the length of it, relishing in the moan Shane buries against his chest.

“Go for it,” he replies, dropping his hand back to the mattress and curling his fingers in Shane’s sheets as Shane starts kissing his way down his chest. He takes his sweet time, alternates between touches so light Ryan thinks he could have imagined them to firmer kisses, bites that are definitely going to leave some kind of mark. He spends a tortuously long time around Ryan’s hips, and by the time his fingers finally drag down the zipper of Ryan’s jeans, Ryan’s lip aches from his teeth pressing into it.

Thankfully, Shane doesn’t tease him any longer. He tugs both Ryan’s jeans and boxers down and pushes them off the mattress before he unexpectedly leans over and, with no preamble, wraps his lips around the head of Ryan’s dick.

“Jesus Christ, _Shane_ ,” Ryan gasps, immediately dropping one hand into Shane’s hair and doing his absolute best to resist arching his hips up into the wet heat of Shane’s mouth. It feels incredible, but part of him hopes that Shane doesn’t plan on staying there too long, because otherwise, this might end before they really get to the main event. Shane mumbles something totally incomprehensible, and the vibrations send another jolt of pleasure up Ryan’s spine. The flat of his tongue drags up the underside of Ryan’s dick, and Ryan curses, smooths one hand down the back of Shane’s head to the nape of his neck. “Please, c’mon.”

Shane pulls away from him, but he’s still close enough that Ryan feels his breath on his thigh when he says, voice low and raspy, “Please what, Ryan?”

“Fuck me, _please_ ,” he answers, voice edging into what could almost be described as a whine. For a few moments, Shane doesn’t move, and Ryan almost whines again. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, but it’s hard not to be; Shane’s already gotten him so wound up that he can hardly stand it. 

Finally, blessedly, with one last graze of his tongue, Shane comes back up and plants his hands on the mattress on either side of Ryan’s head, nudges their noses together.

“How do you wanna do this?” he asks. Truthfully, Ryan isn’t sure if he has much of a preference; he’s thought about it a _lot_ , especially over the last few weeks, but there hasn’t been one position or another that’s really dominated his mind.

“You can pick,” he responds, pressing his lips to Shane’s cheek, then to his jaw. Shane sighs and tilts his head back, and Ryan takes advantage by grazing his tongue against Shane’s pulse point.

“Kinda want you to ride me,” Shane mumbles, and Ryan’s fairly certain that, for a few seconds, his heart actually fucking stops. “If that’s alright.”

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, leaning up and flipping their positions. Shane’s elbow bashes into the wall as they roll over, and Ryan presses an apologetic kiss to it before he continues, “This is good.”

They only move away from each other briefly, when Shane has to slide over to grab lube and a condom from his bedside drawer. When he returns and pops the cap off, Ryan busies himself by pressing his mouth to every inch of Shane that he can reach; the jut of his collarbone, the sharp curve of his shoulder, the long line of his throat.

“Stop distracting me,” Shane groans, smoothing one hand down Ryan’s back to rest at the dip of his spine. “Gotta concentrate.” 

“What, you can’t multi-task?” 

“Not if I want to do this right.” Shane sounds absolutely serious and more than a little nervous, and Ryan immediately stops fucking around in favor of dropping his forehead to Shane’s.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmurs, sitting up on his knees so that it’ll be easier for Shane to reach. “Alright? I trust you.” Shane sighs again and tilts his head up for a kiss that’s soft enough that it makes Ryan’s chest ache.

“Just let me know if you need to take a break,” Shane says once they’ve pulled apart. “Or tell me to fuck off if you want to quit all together.”

“Green means go, fuck off means stop. Got it,” Ryan nods. “I’m ready.”

When Shane ever so carefully presses his first finger into him, a gasp punches from Ryan’s chest, and he digs his fingers into Shane’s chest and closes his eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this part, but he’s still unaccustomed to how long Shane’s slender fingers are. They feel every bit as good as he used to imagine, back before they were really an official thing, during their no man’s land of a summer, and once he’s used to the initial feeling, he starts rocking his hips back. 

“You good?” Shane asks against Ryan’s mouth, and Ryan nods feverishly.

“Green, so goddamn green, c’mon. You can keep going.”

“Okay,” Shane says and, moments later, he carefully adds a second finger alongside the first, and Ryan buries a grateful groan against Shane’s mouth.

If there’s one thing that can be said about Shane, it’s that he’s thorough. By the time he has three of his fingers buried in Ryan deep enough for them to be brushing his prostate, Ryan’s nearly ready to cry from sheer _want_. He keeps rocking his hips backwards, and he knows he’s babbling, but he can’t stop himself. This is already so much better than all the fantasizing in the world could have prepared him for, and they still haven’t actually fucked.

Maybe his thought about spontaneously combusting wasn’t so far off after all.

“Fuck, Shane, c’mon,” he gasps, hands skating over Shane’s shoulders. “Please, I’m ready, goddammit, you’re killing me.”

With one final curl of his fingers that resonates up Ryan’s spine and down to his toes, Shane carefully withdraws them, and Ryan feels so empty that he almost immediately regrets asking Shane to stop.

Still, he thinks that, in a few seconds, the few moments of emptiness that he has to deal with will all be worth it. 

“Can’t find the fucking condom,” Shane mutters, hand sweeping back and forth across the mattress. After a moment, Ryan hears foil crinkle, and Shane triumphantly _ahas_ like a damn cartoon villain. It’s absolutely absurd and _so_ out of place considering what they’re in the process of doing, but it just makes Ryan love him even more.

“Hurry up,” he groans, reaching down and wrapping his hand around Shane’s dick.

“Distracting me isn’t going to make me move any faster,” Shane gasps, arching his hips up into Ryan’s hand. The foil crinkles more as he tears the condom open. “Also, we really need to talk about your attitude problem.”

“Nah,” Ryan answers, shaking his head vehemently and pulling his hand away when Shane’s fingers brush over his. “Nothing to talk about. S’fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Once the condom is in place, Shane curls one hand around Ryan’s hip and tugs him forward slightly, so that he’s in a better position. “Maybe next time, I should make you wait longer.” He sounds absolutely _wrecked,_ and in the orange glow from the streetlights outside, Ryan can see that his pupils are huge, dark holes, blown totally wide.

He doesn’t regret that they decided to take their time with this, decided to wait, but now that he’s seen Shane like this, it’s going to be _so_ damn hard not to do it every single time they’re together.

“You want me to beg for you?” he manages to ask, pressing his hips back against where Shane is brushing against him. 

“Only if you want to,” Shane answers, tightening his grip on Ryan’s hip, and Ryan wants, he _definitely_ wants that; just the thought of it is enough to make his head swim, but he’s pretty sure that if Shane doesn’t actually fuck him soon, he might actually cry from sheer need.

“We can talk about it,” he says quickly, curling his hands around Shane’s shoulders tightly. “Later. Not now. _Please_.”

This time, Shane doesn’t make him clarify what he’s asking for. Instead, he just murmurs, “Alright, I’ve got you, baby,” before he fucking _finally_ loosens his grip on Ryan and lets him bear his hips down.

When Shane finally slides into him, Ryan cries out and pulls Shane into a sloppy kiss that he keeps breaking away from to curse. Burning hot tears of absolute _relief_ streak down his face, and as he slowly takes his time taking the rest of Shane in, Shane presses kisses to Ryan’s cheeks, his eyelids, his mouth, drags his tongue over the tears.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, curling his palms tightly around Ryan’s thighs. The only thing Ryan can do is nod in agreement and moan; his ability to say any words that aren’t desperate curses or Shane’s name seems to have flown completely out the fucking window.

That ability doesn’t return for him for the next several minutes. Shane lets him set the pace, and it’s not long before Ryan finds the perfect rhythm, the one that’s going to make him come. Somehow, their fingers end up linking together, and Ryan squeezes Shane’s hand tightly as he gets closer and closer.

“Can I touch you?” Shane asks. He’s a panting mess, and while he hasn’t said whether he’s close or not, Ryan suspects that it’s the former.

“Fuck, yeah, please,” he answers, nodding desperately. Thankfully, Shane doesn’t make him wait; he wraps the long fingers of his other hand, which was are still slightly sticky from lube from carefully working Ryan open, around Ryan’s dick and start stroking him. It’s a little too slow, at first, but when he speeds up enough to match his pace to Ryan’s, it feels like everything slots into place.

“Oh fuck, _Shane_ ,” is all he manages to say before he comes, hips rocking forward into Shane’s hand. He tries to keep moving his hips down, but it’s difficult to keep up the pace when there’s so much sensation hitting him all at once. Thankfully, Shane picks up the slack and thrusts up into him, slower but deep, hand still slowly working on Ryan.

“Love you,” he gasps after a few moments as his pace starts to become increasingly erratic. 

“Love you too,” Ryan replies, leaning forward and kissing Shane just in time for Shane to bury his final loud groan into his mouth.

Ryan isn’t sure how much time passes before they move again. Their foreheads stay braced together as they both catch their breath, chests heaving. Eventually, Shane slips out of him, and Ryan slumps slightly to the side, so that his head is resting on Shane’s pillow. He’s in desperate need of a shower, his thighs and knees are sore, and all of his exhaustion from earlier in the evening has returned at once, meaning that staying awake long enough to clean himself up is going to be a challenge.

Abruptly, he starts laughing.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy in his entire life.

“Ryan?” Shane asks, turning his head until his nose is bumping Ryan’s cheek. “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, so worried, that it makes Ryan’s heart ache, and he nods, gropes out one hand and settles it on top of Shane’s chest, over his still pounding heart.

“I’ve never been better,” he answers truthfully, turning his head so that he can see Shane. “Was that, I mean, are-”

“This has been the best day of my life,” Shane interrupts, wrapping both arms around Ryan’s waist and pulling him in close. “Even with the ghost hunting.”

“You love being a ghost hunter, and you know it,” Ryan mumbles into the side of Shane’s neck.

“Fuck off,” Shane answers jovially. He loosens his arms after a moment, but he doesn’t entirely move them away. Instead, in between pressing lingering kisses to the line of Ryan’s shoulder, he asks, “Do you wanna stay tonight? I washed some of the clothes you left here last time.”

Frankly, even if he _didn’t_ have clean clothes, even if he had to borrow some of Shane’s (and look absolutely fucking ridiculous), Ryan’s answer wouldn’t change.

He’s not leaving Shane’s side anytime soon.

“Yeah,” he answers, pushing himself up on still shaking arms and capturing Shane’s mouth with his own again. “Yeah. I wanna stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for the fourth and final part (and I mean it this time. one more and then we're done!)
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061365) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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